


Dixon of Dock Green

by Classicsitcom



Category: Dixon of Dock Green (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 09:41:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19082440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Classicsitcom/pseuds/Classicsitcom
Summary: Dixon Of Dock Green. Television's popular 'bobby' George Dixon recalls a case from 1956. Story contains language and attitudes typical of that era. Complete story.





	Dixon of Dock Green

"Evening all, PC George Dixon here again. It's a cold night but I'm off duty in an hour or so and then it's off home to a nice plate of potato and onion pie in front of the fire and the television. To pass the time, I'll tell you about a case I was involved in a year or two ago. It all started when I was on my beat, just a few streets from here, in fact, near the park..."

It was a cold night and I was looking forward to the end of my shift and getting home for a plate of potato and onion pie with my feet up in front of the fire when a chap came walking up to me, proceeding in a northerly direction, he was, from the main entrance of the park. He looked distinctly flustered and I had already decided to stop him for a friendly word when he approached me and pointed in to the park -  
"I was just going to use the public convenience in the park, constable," he said "and it's full of those flaming nancy boys. An absolute disgrace, that's what it is."  
"I'll deal with this, sir." I said in a reassuring, old fashioned copper type way - which was my want - and, as he proceeded on his way, I walked briskly in to the public toilet. Well, I won't describe what I saw in there in any detail - there were three of them at it like steam trains but they soon stopped when I appeared. There was a scuffle - the kind of thing that every British Bobby is trained to handle and within a moment or two I had subdued the first two suspects - one with handcuffs and the other with a toilet seat bashed over his head making a very comical sight indeed wearing it, for all the world, like an Elizabethan ruff ! The third one, however, had it away on his toes and was 'legging' it down the cinder path towards the park gates. I drew my truncheon and - with more hope than expectation of success - hurled it through the air with all my might. Well, it was a million to one shot but, as much to my surprise as yours, it came off superbly and the truncheon landed four-square on the suspect's head sending him sprawling in amongst the bushes. A small congratulatory crowd assembled as I bundled my three suspects together and used a nearby public payphone to call in for a patrol car. All in a nights work as far as I was concerned and I can tell you, I was ready for that potato and onion pie when I finally clocked off.

All in a nights work, as far as I was concerned but news of my successful 'collar' spread quickly and the next morning, the desk sergeant spoke to me. I had been invited for a temporary secondment to the 'Lav Squad.'  
"The 'Lav Squad' ?" I gasped "That elite unit who patrol our public toilets stamping out ... well, certain types of behaviour ?"  
"The very same," said the desk sergeant "They were impressed with your handling of the situation last night. You start with them this very morning."  
Well, the 'Lav Squad' were a legend in my part of London - the poor but honest East End - keeping the public safe from individuals known, in the eyes of the law, as 'homosexuals'. I jumped at the chance and took the tube train across town to their headquarters near Hampstead Heath where I was greeted by their 'guv'nor' - Detective Inspector Guy Manley.  
"That was great work by you last night, Dixon." He said "Some of the lads here would have thought twice before tackling three poofs on their home ground."  
"Well, just doing my job sir," I said "I didn't even realise there were three of them until I went in."  
"Don't be too modest about it, George." Said the Inspector as he leafed through some papers "One of them was a repeat offender, he'll get a year or two inside. The others were first timers so they'll get psychiatric help. Contrary to what you might think, 'Lav Squad' isn't about punishing these poofs, it's about helping them, getting them back on the straight and narrow. Are you married George ?"  
"No sir, I'm a widower," I answered "My wife was killed in the blitz."  
"I'm sorry to hear that, by the way - call me Guy. I'm married, I've got a young son and every time we nick a poof I feel that my lad's a little bit safer walking the streets. Let me show you around 'Lav Squad'"  
In the main office, there were about a dozen constables and women constables tirelessly working their way through what looked like a mountain of paperwork. Covering one wall there was a large map showing the whole of the North London area with public toilets marked with little coloured flags. "You can probably guess," said Inspector Manley "Red is for high poof activity, green for medium, white for low."  
"Yes, I see." I answered and then Manley showed me the radio equipment that kept every mobile member of the 'Lav Squad' in touch with each other and their headquarters - "The latest radio system," he told me proudly "Only the Flying Squad and us have it." I nodded to the chief radio operator, WPC Coren who was - as Manley phrased it - our answer to the home service !  
"Can I do you now sir ?" Asked Coren playfully impersonating radio's popular Mrs Mopp. I had a good old laugh at that while Manley answered a telephone call.  
"Emergency call," he said "Someone's been murdered in a public lav on the other side of the heath."  
Within two minutes Manley and I - along with detective sergeant Ron Hardman were on our way to the scene of the crime.  
Pretty shocking, the scene of the crime was too. A gents public toilet just outside of Hampstead Heath - apparently quite normal from outside, a familiar sight and, to most of us, sometimes a very welcome one. Inside however was a different story - the place had been virtually demolished. Brick built cubicles with stout wooden doors - built to last a lifetime and probably having survived the blitz - were smashed, in fact, pulverised would be a better word. The bricks scattered left, right and centre, the wooden doors smashed in to splinters.  
"What kind of force did it take to do this ?" I asked incredulously and neither Manley nor Hardman could offer any answer.  
Something lay in among the rubble, something that had once been a human being but was now smashed beyond recognition. Corduroy trousers and the presence of a cravat suggested that the victim was a homosexual but it would take a great deal of forensic investigation to put a name to it.  
"Looks like he was in the cubicle when it was smashed up." Said Hardman.  
"He might have been using the lav, I suppose," said Manley "or hiding in it. What do you think, George."  
"Well, his trousers are still on so he wasn't using it - not at the moment he was attacked anyway." I said.  
"Good point." Said Manley.  
"Did you notice the damage at the door ?" I asked and Manley and Hardman turned to look at the main entrance to the convenience.  
"The wooden jam is all smashed and some of the brickwork too," I said "on both sides - that wasn't damaged deliberately."  
"You mean, by accident." Said Manley "By someone or something coming in ?"  
"That's what I reckon." I said "or going out."  
"You're right," said Hardman "The damage in here, well - a couple of big lads with sledgehammers could do that if they were determined enough to get in to the cubicle to kill someone but..." he looked closely at the doorway again "Why damage the door on the way in or the way out ?"  
"Swinging a sledgehammer in their hands maybe." Said Manley.  
"Could someone have driven in ?" I suggested, "In a fork lift truck or something similar, bashed up the doorway on the way in and then did all this damage ?"  
"Possible," conceded Manley, "but why would someone go to so much trouble ? Why drive a fork lift truck in to a lav ? In my job, I see some funny things in lavs but never that. Anyway, let's start with an identification - and that's a job for a forensic doctor."

Within a few hours, the victim was identified - a local man who already had a conviction for gross indecency in the same toilet where he eventually met his end. His relatives and 'friends' were questioned and one witness came forward to tell us he had seen a red truck parked outside the public convenience around the time of the murder - early in the morning as the victims watch had been broken and stopped at 7.15. The truck was parked "in a funny way" said the witness - parked with its back doors towards the entrance to the toilet - there was quite a wide pavement at that point and the truck had driven up so that it's front was pointing towards the road. It was a quiet area and the witness hadn't seen anyone else around at the time. He just walked on past on his way to work.  
"Someone took something from the back of that lorry in to the lav." Said Inspector Manley "Some kind of power tool to destroy the cubicles, maybe a fork lift truck though I'm dubious about that."  
"Maybe the power tool was taken in to the toilet but connected to a generator or an air pump in the back of the truck." I suggested "Like a pneumatic drill. Like the ones they use to dig up the roads."  
"Yes, that's good. That explains why it had to be so near to the entrance." Said Manley.  
"Is it possible that someone came along with this truck and hydraulic equipment to destroy the toilet itself - maybe the murder wasn't even intended ?" Postulated Hardman "That poof was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."  
"Either way," I said "The truck was parked in such a way to obscure what was happening at the back and also to allow a quick getaway."  
"Could be we're dealing with a gang of some sort," said Manley "One driver, one - maybe two- to do the wrecking job. Either way, what was the motive ? If you want to kill someone in a toilet, why smash the place up ? If you just want to destroy the toilet itself then ... well, why would anyone want to do that ?"  
It was a real mystery but one that would be solved as the vast majority of crimes were solved - traditional police work and the help of the Great British public. The local paper printed an appeal for witnesses and mentioned the red truck - which was now the focal point of our investigation. I read through the rest of the paper with my feet up in front of the fire enjoying a nice potato and onion pie.

Over the next few days, leads were followed up - false leads mostly as the public often swamp the police with unnecessary or inaccurate information every piece of which has to be investigated. Virtually every major case is solved thanks to a piece of vital information from the public, of course, but it's not always easy to tell which piece of information is the vital one ! The 'Lav Squad' naturally, also had to go about its usual daily duty of keeping North London's public toilets safe for decent people.  
Then came the second murder - another public lav destroyed, another dead homosexual inside and another huge mystery with no obvious solution. A truck was seen outside the convenience at about the time of the murder - a similar truck as in the previous incident, except that this one was blue rather than red. Was one of our witnesses mistaken or had the truck been resprayed ? We now had two gruesome killings on our hands and very few leads.  
Driving along the Hampstead High Street, Inspector Manley told me to pull over and as I eased in to the kerb, he wound down the window on his side of the car.  
"Reginald ?" He called and a young man on the pavement turned and approached the car.  
"Hello Mr Manley." He said cheerily.  
"Do you know anything about these killings, Reg ?" Asked Manley.  
Reginald spread his hands- "Not a thing, Mr Manley, Nobody does ... at least nobody's speaking about them. The local poof population are shaking in their shoes though."  
"I can understand that." Said Manley.  
"I've heard that some big poofs are having a meeting tonight in a lav on the Heath. Planning to form a vigilante committee or something. Try to defend themselves or catch the murderer."  
"Catching the murderer is our job." Snapped Manley then, in a more conciliatory tone "If you're talking to any of them, tell them to go around in pairs. Don't go in to the lavs on their own. No poof is safe in North London right now. When's this meeting going to be held ?"  
"Late," said Reginald "About 10pm - I don't even know where. Just somewhere on the Heath. It's not much, I know."  
"That's OK Reg," said Manley winding up the window "Take care."  
Reginald waved and walked off.  
"Nice lad, eh ?" Asked Manley.  
"Seems decent enough." I said starting the car and pulling out into the traffic.  
"A few years ago he was one of 'them'." Said Manley.  
"A fairy ?" I asked in some surprise.  
"Arrested in a lav - just a young kid, picked up with some old perv. Frightened out of his wits he was, I offered him a second chance - promise to pack in the poofing, stay on the straight and narrow and the whole thing would be forgotten."  
"Taking quite a risk." I observed.  
"The gentle touch sometimes works. He's married now, lovely girl and a baby on the way. He keeps me informed about poof activity round here."  
"Reliable ?"  
"I'd trust him with my life" said Manley "and there's a few in the squad I wouldn't say that about !"  
We both laughed.  
"Fancy a bit of overtime tonight ? We'll try and gatecrash that meeting on the Heath."

I had my potato and onion pie early that evening and headed back out on duty at 9 o'clock planning to reach Hampstead Heath by 9.30 where Manley and Hardman were waiting in a patrol car.  
"There's a couple of big lavs that are the most likely ones for this meeting." Said Manley when I arrived and he, I and Hardman walked in through the park gates.  
The first lav was empty as was the second and the time was getting on by the time we reached the third one on our list. A truck drove past us as we approached but none of us took any notice. Manley was busy looking at his watch "Half past ten," he said "These poofs will have packed up and gone home by now."  
The poofs, however, had not packed up and gone home as we found when we reached the lav - they would never be going home again, in fact. The lav was devastated, pulverised, demolished and in amongst the rubble were the equally pulverised bodies of countless poofs.  
"Get to the car, Hardman." Said Manley "Get the area surrounded, get every available man and woman up here." He looked around the carnage "What a bloody mess !" He said in disbelief.  
"This chap's alive." I said crouching down - the man I was referring to was in a bad way but still breathing, still able to speak.  
"Who did all this ?" I asked him but he was unable to answer, too shocked.  
Manley brought out a hip flask - "You want some brandy ?" He asked and only the movement of the man's eyes came as an answer. The flask was put to his lips and a sip taken.  
"It wasn't... human." He croaked.  
"What do you mean ?" I asked.  
"It wasn't a man... it was a machine."  
"A machine ?" Asked Manley "You mean like a fork lift truck ?"  
"No," said the stranger whose voice was becoming weaker by the moment "A walking machine, a robot, a man made from metal."  
They were the last words he would ever speak. Manley and I looked at each other and I don't mind admitting a shiver ran down my spine.  
"Just a minute !" Said Manley "A truck passed us as we were on our way up here. Did you notice it ?"  
"Yes I did," I answered "Exactly the kind of truck we're looking for if I remember rightly. I didn't notice the colour though, too dark."  
"I'll bet it was the one we're looking for. It must have been driving away from here, we must have missed them by minutes."  
"I didn't notice the registration," I admitted, "I'm sorry."  
"Me neither, maybe Hardman got it."  
Our hopes on that score were dashed when Hardman returned. He had barely noticed the truck at all he confessed.  
"It'll be miles away by now." Said Manley "but that truck is behind this carnage. Why on earth are they doing it though ?"

Next morning, the investigation into the multiple murder was continuing with the area around the lav cordoned off. Four bodies were in amongst the rubble and were identified by the contents of their wallets. All known homosexuals.  
"The press are going to love all this." Said Manley "Six poofs dead and we - as the newspapers like to say - are baffled."

Back at the station we were handed a lead that we hoped might solve the case. A constable on the northern outskirts of London, in Southgate, had noticed a truck parked in the street near a public lav. It was empty and parked legally but the constable noticed that although painted blue there was a dent in the front mudguard that showed red paint underneath. He took a note of the registration but wasn't immediately suspicious as he hadn't been briefed that we were looking for a vehicle of that exact description. The lead took us nowhere, however, as the registration when checked on the police computer turned out to be false.  
All our enquiries, however, now concentrated on Southgate and we flooded the area - taking dozens of our own officers off their regular work patrolling public lavs. Door to door enquiries were carried out in a wide area around the sighting. We knew, of course, that the truck might have driven in to Southgate for all of five minutes and then driven off to Land's End, John O'Groats or Timbuctoo but it was the only lead we had and every effort was put in to following it up.  
As we waited for information to come through I raised a matter that had been puzzling me -  
"Do you really think that the killer was dressed as a robot ?" I asked.  
"Well," said Manley "That's what the victim said. He might have been confused though. He was in a terrible state."  
"All the same," I pointed out "He used his last breath to give us that information."  
"Why would someone dress as a robot to carry out a murder ?" Asked Manley.  
"Is it possible that it ... was a robot ?" Asked Hardman.  
Manley and I laughed though, in my case, it was a pretty nervous laugh.  
"Sounds a bit science fiction." Said Manley "It's not possible."  
"Maybe not a real robot as such," continued Hardman "Maybe body armour, a helmet, armed with some kind of pneumatic weapon attached to the back of the truck. In a panic, that could give someone the impression that it was a robot - a man made of metal like that poof said."  
Manley began sketching on a piece of paper - "Ok, body armour, yes..."  
"I saw stuff like that during the war." I mentioned.  
"A helmet, like a motorcyclist." Said Manley scribbling with his pen "A visor or some sort of face covering...add some gloves and a pneumatic drill or something... what do you think ?"  
Manley was no artist but the picture conjured up the image of some sort of robotic creature, a human being, of course, but dressed in such a way as to resemble a robot from science fiction.  
"But why dress up like that in the first place ?" I asked.  
"Disguise," said Hardman "To prevent identification,the body armour for protection, the gloves the same, the weapon, of course, to destroy the lavs."  
"Plus the fact he's probably some kind of wierdo who enjoys frightening his victims before he kills them. We're dealing with a sick man here. I would say that the motivation is a hatred of poofs and then the destruction of the lav ... well, maybe he's had a bad experience in a lav at some time." Said Manley.  
"Maybe approached or touched up by a poof." Said Hardman.  
"Let's imagine that's what happened." I suggested "He's in a lav, some poof starts chatting him up, he's disgusted - naturally - but he's also angry, furious, out of his mind with anger - what would he do ?"  
"Give the poof a kicking, I expect." said Manley "I would."  
"Exactly," I said "It might pay to check through all assaults in public lavs in this area over, say the last six months ?"  
"It's a good idea," said Manley "Hardman, get on that."

I began to wish I'd never voiced my theory as Manley, Hardman and I pored over hundreds of reports of assaults in lavs - most of them unsolved - and, as Manley pointed out, if there had been an incident like I suggested it might even have gone unreported. I felt like I'd really earned my potato and onion pie when I got home that night. Even more so, in fact, as my daughter Mary called in for a visit. She asked me how things were at work. "Difficult." I answered. Something of an understatement. The evening papers were full of the story and were doing their usual excellent job of terrifying the public - only a tiny percentage of whom, of course, were actually at risk from the unknown killer.

Next morning, Manley, Hardman and I settled down to carry out another sift through the last six months of assaults in public lavs. Meanwhile, enquiries in Southgate were wound down and no useful information had been gained.  
It was mid morning when the man arrived at the station - every inch the civil servant or city banker in his pin stripe suit and bowler hat with umbrella and briefcase under his arm - his name was Mr Jacobs and he had come from Whitehall. He was shown in to the incident room and Manley shook him by the hand -  
"You wanted to speak to me Mr Jacobs ?" He asked.  
"Yes" said the stranger looking round the room at myself and Hardman "You are in charge of these 'lav murders' that are in the newspapers ?"  
"Yes, I am. Are you able to help us with that ?" Said Manley.  
"It would be better if I spoke to you alone, Inspector." Said Jacobs.  
"This gentleman here is Detective Sergeant Hardman and this is Constable Dixon," said Manley "They are assisting me closely in the case and I assure you that you can speak quite freely in front of them."  
Mr Jacobs hesitated a moment then pointed to a chair - "May I sit down ?" He asked.  
"Please do." Said Manley "Make yourself comfortable."  
Jacobs reached in to his briefcase and brought out some documents. He handed one of them to Manley - "All three of you will have to sign this before I go any further." He said.  
Manley looked at the paper in his hand - "Official Secrets ?" He asked.  
"Yes," said Jacobs "I'm from the government, the Department of Science specifically." He held out a pass which Manley examined closely.  
"What exactly is the purpose of your visit, Mr Jacobs ?" He asked.  
"You need to sign that document first." Said Jacobs holding out his pen. Manley took it, signed the paper and passed it over to Hardman and I who followed suit.  
"Thank you." Said Jacobs, taking the paper and the pen back, "Now, I want to speak to you about Professor Roger Daley."  
"Who's he ?" Asked Manley.  
"Probably the man behind these murders." Replied Jacobs.  
Manley sat back on the edge of his desk - "Go on." He said.  
"Professor Daley is a scientist, an expert on electronics and on robotics..."  
"Robotics ?" Queried Hardman, "You mean..."  
Manley interrupted - "Yes, just what do you mean ?"  
"Well, these murders have been carried out by a robot, haven't they ?" Asked Jacobs in his infuriatingly calm voice.  
"I can't comment on that," said Manley "But if we presume that is the case, what is this Professor Daley's connection to it all."  
"Well, some years ago, Professor Daley worked for my department. One of his projects was building a device that could detect homosexuality. It was for use in screening applicants for work in the intelligence agencies. That kind of thing can lead to blackmail, security implications, you see ?"  
None of us answered and Jacobs continued -  
"Daley hated homosexuals, much more than people normally do, it was a personal thing - his son was one, finding that out was a great shock to him. Developing the homosexuality detector was his own idea, his own project. He was obsessive about it. He created a machine, a computerised machine, like a lie detector... or perhaps more like a radar system - it could scan a human being and in a few seconds detect whether or not they were homosexual. It was a foolproof method of recognising such tendencies.  
"The Professor then moved on to robotics - developing machines that could carry out human tasks, machines that walked on two legs, like a human, with arms for carrying out tasks, with the ability to see, hear to move independently. To all intents and purposes - a robot like those you would see in science fiction but these were absolute fact. They didn't resemble human beings, of course, except that they had a body, limbs, eyes - actually camera lenses linked to a computer system, the same with hearing. They weren't very advanced - not as intelligent as humans, slower than humans but stronger, maybe better than humans in some ways.  
"He combined the homosexuality detector and the robot to create a robot that could identify and kill homosexuals - a weapon, a killing machine. There was no practical use for such a weapon and the research was ended. Professor Daley went on to work on other projects but we believe he has continued this strand of his research and may be responsible for what has been happening recently. He may have developed his robots to a level of sophistication previously unimagined."  
"How could you possibly know that we suspected that a robot was involved in these murders ?" Asked Manley "Nothing about that has been made public."  
"We have ways and means," said Jacobs "May I suggest that you investigate Professor Daley immediately ?"  
"Where can we find him ?" Asked Manley.  
"He lives in Barnet." Said Jacobs "A house called 'The Parsonage' in Barnet."  
"Barnet," I said "North West of Southgate where the truck was seen. Outside our search area though."  
"Hardman," said Manley "Get a patrol car."  
Hardman rushed out of the office while Manley reached for the 'phone - "Thank you very much for your assistance Mr Jacobs," he said "George here will show you out."  
"Good luck Inspector." Said Jacobs politely as he stood up but Manley was already on the 'phone asking to be put through to the police station in Barnet.

Ten minutes later, Manley, Hardman and myself were in a patrol car heading for Barnet driven by a WPC called Pollard. Pollard was an attractive woman, not young, she reminded me a little of my wife in fact. She seemed bright and dependable - the kind of woman who could go a long way in the force, if only the force didn't habitually consign women to tea making and child welfare cases - two duties which, by the way, they do very well but I'm digressing...  
"I called through to Barnet and told them to send a couple of men to 'The Parsonage'," said Manley "We'll meet them there."  
Hardman pored over the road map and gave directions to Pollard as the Hertfordshire countryside flew by.  
"How exactly are we going to handle a robot ?" I asked as no-one else had so far done so.  
"There isn't a robot." Said Manley.  
"But you heard what Mr Jacobs said." Countered Hardman.  
"I heard what he said, all right," said Manley "He said that Professor Daley's son was a homo, that would be enough to drive anyone mad. That's what happened to Daley. That's the motive for these murders. It's Daley that's doing them. There's no robot though. Daley is a professor, he's got this gadget that can detect poofs and he's built some sort of suit, some kind of equipment that he wears for protection, something that gives him immense strength. He's built a weapon as well - something powerful enough to destroy brick walls and wooden doors, just like the thing we drew back at the station. He drives to the lavs in this truck with a generator which provides power for the weapon and then ... pow ! Murder and destruction in one go. The shrinks will say that every time he kills a poof he's mentally killing his own son or some cobblers like that."  
"Well, we'll soon find out I suppose." Said Hardman.  
"We're nearly there," said Pollard "That sign was pointing to 'The Parsonage' and there's two constables up ahead.  
We pulled over to the side of the road and called over the constables.  
"I'm Inspector Manley," said Manley.  
"Of 'Lav Squad' ?" Asked one of them.  
Manley smiled - "The very same." He confirmed.  
"We were told you were coming, sir," said the other constable "We've been here for a quarter of an hour or so, we were told to stay well back and out of sight."  
"Good," said Manley "You stay here, were going in to speak to Professor Daley - do you know anything about him ?"  
Both the constables shook their heads - "Not really." One of them said.  
"OK," said Manley and indicated to WPC Pollard to drive on.  
"What do we do if he's wearing his robot suit when we arrive ?" Asked Hardman.  
"There's no reason why he should be," said Manley "he's not expecting us. Anyway, there's three of us, four including Pollard. You're up for a scrap, aren't you Pollard."  
The WPC smiled - "You bet chief," she said "I was in Burma during the war, remember." My admiration for her increased threefold.  
'The Parsonage' was a fine house - a mansion really - behind wrought iron gates and a long drive. The gates were closed but not locked. Hardman pushed the gates open and we drove in and up the drive to the house.  
"You come with me, George." Said Manley "Hardman and Pollard, check out the back."  
Before we split up a voice came from an upstairs window - "Can I help you ?"  
We all looked up and saw a middle aged man with a beard looking down at us. He looked distinctly agitated to me.  
"Professor Daley ?" Asked Manley.  
"Yes."  
"We'd like a word."  
"What about ?"  
"Well, we'll explain that when we come in."  
"Who are you ?"  
"We're the police actually." Said Manley.  
"The police ?" Professor Daley's agitation seemed to increase a notch. "Just a moment." He disappeared back inside the window and the four of us stayed down at the front door.  
"I hope he's not getting his robot." Whispered Hardman and we all laughed ... or tried to.  
"I won't be a moment." Called Daley re-appearing at the window.  
"I don't want to appear rude, Professor," said Manley "But we haven't got all day."  
To our astonishment, Daley pushed the window up fully open and began climbing out of it.  
"Professor !" Called Manley "What are you doing."  
"Help me !" Shouted Daley, "Help me down, quickly."  
"Hardman !" Barked Manley "Help him down."  
Hardman and I assisted Daley to ground level -  
"What's the idea of climbing out of the window ?" Demanded Manley.  
"Over this way, quickly." Said Daley and as a group we moved away to the side of the house "It's coming, it'll kill us all !"  
"What will ?" I asked with an eerie feeling that I already knew the answer.  
"The robot." Said Daley "I built it, but it's run amok. It's been killing people, I've been a prisoner in this house for weeks. Thank goodness you came."  
"There really is a robot ?" Asked Manley - a question that was entirely academic by the time it left his lips because the front door of the house opened and from inside came heavy stamping footsteps and ... we saw it !  
A robot ! A mechanical man ! A body, legs, arms and something that could be described as a head with two glass lenses for eyes. Made entirely of metal that looked to me like cast iron. Six feet tall and hugely broad round the 'chest' the thing reminded me of a wartime tank on legs. It moved quickly, much quicker than one would have expected for something of its size and bulk and in a few steps it was beside our patrol car which it tipped over on to its roof with one hand while we looked on in horror.  
"Keep back." Said Daley to us and we needed no further bidding.  
The robot turned and disappeared round the corner of the house.  
"George, stay here with Pollard and the Professor. Hardman come with me."  
Manley began walking after the robot but Hardman hung back - "Guv," he said "It'll kill us."  
"So you'll get a police bravery medal posthumously, won't you ?" Sneered Manley "Come on."  
Hardman complied reluctantly. As they approached the corner Manley called back to me - "George, see if the radio in the car is still working, call for back up." They disappeared from sight.  
I managed to pull open the door of the overturned patrol car but a glance told me that the radio set was smashed - I pressed the transmit button on the handset but nothing happened. I heard an engine revving up at the back of the house and looked up, a voice - either Manley or Hardman shouted - "Look out!" And the blue truck we had been searching for roared towards me with - astoundingly - the robot at the steering wheel. I looked over to Daley and Pollard and shouted a warning but to my amazement I saw the professor punch Pollard in the face - the force of the blow spinning the poor WPC's body round in mid air before she landed in a crumpled heap on the ground. The truck screeched to a halt and Daley ran up to the passenger door and jumped in. The truck roared off again.  
"Look out you two !" I shouted as the two constables from earlier were running up the drive. From where I stood it looked as if the truck ran straight over them but the angle was deceptive - in fact, one of the constables had jumped clear completely but his colleague wasn't so lucky and was sent reeling by the passenger side wing. The truck disappeared down the drive.  
I can't imagine what Manley and Hardman thought as they came back round the corner of the house and saw Pollard flat out on the grass as well as the uniformed constable unconscious nearby.  
"Daley flattened WPC Pollard," I called over "He's escaped in the truck. The radios smashed."  
Pollard began to stir - much to my relief, as I genuinely thought she'd been killed but the constable lay still on the ground. He was alive but in a bad way, poor lad, he couldn't have been more than twenty years old.  
"Have you got a radio in your car ?" Asked Manley but the answer was in the negative as, at that time, two way radios were not standard issue in county police vehicles.  
"What way did they go ?" Asked Manley.  
"Turned to the right." I said.  
"George, stay here with Pollard and this chap," he pointed to the unconscious constable "See if there's a telephone in the house, get an ambulance and put a police alert out on that truck. Did you get it's number."  
"I certainly did, sir." I answered - honestly, imagine asking an old pro like me such a question !  
Manley, Hardman and the constable ran down the drive and I approached the house - it occurred to me, of course, that there might be a second, a third or a fourth robot in the house but that didn't stop me for a moment. The front door was unlocked but the telephone in the hall had been torn out of its socket and I couldn't find any other. By the time I came out, Manley and Hardman had returned -  
"They must have driven the truck in to the patrol car," said Manley "It's a write-off, that constables walking back to town. Did you find a 'phone ?"  
"Pulled out of the socket, sir." I said.  
Manley grimaced - "Held prisoner by the robot for weeks !" He snarled quoting Daley from earlier "Held prisoner my foot !"  
It seemed to take forever for an ambulance to arrive for Pollard and the injured constable and, obviously, by the time the police operation began the truck with the killer robot and Daley on board was miles away.  
A replacement patrol car, driven by a Hertfordshire WPC called Paige, collected Manley, Hardman and myself and we began heading back for London.  
We had only gone a few miles when a report came in on the radio - a truck had stopped at a public lav nearby and a robot - matching the description of the one we were hunting had killed someone - presumably a homosexual - then the truck had driven off at high speed, in a southerly direction, on the A road.  
Despite the desperate situation, Manley smiled "Did you hear that ?" He said "A 'robot fitting our description' - how many robots are there in Hertfordshire ?"  
We all laughed at the incongruity of the message - it was a welcome release of emotion after what had happened over the last hour or so. We stopped laughing when WPC Paige spoke -  
"That's the road we're on just now sir." She said and immediately, Manley, Hardman and I were alert and professional officers again.  
"This road ?" Asked Manley.  
"Yes sir." Said Paige.  
"Eyes peeled, everyone." Said Manley but before the words were out of his mouth Hardman pointed ahead -  
"There they are !" He said and sure enough the truck was approaching us. I braced myself against the back of the driver's seat as Paige braked hard and spun the car round. Once again, we were restricted by the absence of radio in the patrol car and couldn't call for assistance as we pursued the truck, siren blaring.  
The truck speeded up, so did we - WPC Paige was a superb driver and she pursued calmly and expertly. Whoever was driving the truck - whether Daley or the robot - was neither calm nor expert, obviously discomfited by our siren he - or it - was soon driving at a speed that they had neither the skill not the courage to maintain. The truck mounted the grass verge at a corner and the driver overcompensated with the steering and the truck careered to the wrong side of the road, the whole vehicle wobbled and keeled over to one side as it regained the right side then as we approached a bridge, control was lost completely. The truck missed the bridge altogether and plunged down the steep bank in to the river below. It swirled round uncontrollably for a few seconds before turning upside down and sinking below the surface of the water.  
Manley, Hardman, myself and WPC Paige looked down from the bridge -  
"That's the end of that." Said Manley.

Well, the newspapers made the most of the story - after all, it's not every day that a mad scientists creates a killer robot that murders homosexuals in public conveniences, is it ? They even gave the robot a name - 'the Poofbot' they called it. I enjoyed reading through their hysterical reporting as I ate my potato and onion pie in front of the fire that night.

Next morning back at the station, the 'Poofbot' murder enquiry had wound down. Professor Daley's body had been found on the river bank a few hundred yards downstream from the crash site and an engineering firm were organising a crane to lift the remains of the truck from the river. The army would stand by with anti tank weapons in case the crash and the water had not killed the metal monstrosity.  
"Do you fancy going to church, George ?" Asked Manley.  
"Church ?" I said "It's Thursday."  
"I know," said Manley "They're holding a memorial service and funeral for those four homos that got killed in the lav together. Friends and family, obviously, but they sent an invitation to us - for solving the thing I expect."  
"I'd be delighted." I said "What time ?"  
"Midday." Said Manley.  
"Uniform ?" I asked.  
"That would be fine" said Manley "I'll be wearing my suit."

So, at 11.30 Manley and I walked across town to the church where a sizable number of people had gathered. We walked straight up to the front doors but were stopped by the vicar.  
"Inspector Manley, is it ?" He asked.  
"That's right." Said Manley and, at the same moment, a dark suited, pencil thin man stepped forward from inside the church.  
"I'm awfully sorry Mr Manley," said the vicar "but it's been decided that it would not be appropriate for you to attend the service."  
"May I ask why not ?" Said Manley.  
"You work for that 'Lav Squad' lot don't you ?" Asked the pencil thin man "Persecuting homosexuals."  
"We don't persecute anyone," said Manley "We uphold the law."  
"An unjust and insidious law that victimises otherwise perfectly decent people."  
"Well, I'm not going to argue the matter here," said Manley diplomatically "If we're not wanted then we'll just go, come on George."  
"Morning all." I said with a respectful salute and we walked off the way we had come.  
"What now ?" I asked.  
"We've been given two hours off for this affair," said Manley "I'm going to go and have some lunch in the pub."  
"I'll join you if you don't mind." I said.  
We had almost reached the pub when a patrol car driven by Hardman pulled up beside us.  
"Guv !" He called.  
"Yes Hardman." Said Manley who probably had a feeling - as I did - that we weren't going to get our lunch after all.  
"There's been a hold up near a chemicals factory early this morning." Said Hardman and he lowered his voice "Got away with a lorry load of dynamite. The driver was killed."  
"Cor blimey !" Said Manley "It never rains but it pours eh ?"  
"Early this morning ?" I asked "Probably half way to Ireland by now or abroad."  
"Description of the truck ?" Said Manley.  
"Black cab, red bodywork, grey canvas covering. Got the reg here somewhere..." He checked his pockets for his notebook.  
"Like that one over there ?" I asked and my two colleagues looked across at where I was pointing.  
It was the very truck and to our combined astonishment we all saw that the driver was ... the 'Poofbot' !  
"Blimey !" Said Manley "Reverse out, block it."  
"It's heading for the church," I said "It'll blow it sky high !"  
Hardman panicked a little and made a mess of reversing the car, pulling out just in time for the dynamite lorry to clip the rear of the vehicle and send it spinning in to myself and Manley. The pain in my hip where the patrol car hit me was excruciating but I stood up - leaning against the wall for support. As the lorry disappeared down the High Street I staggered along telling people to move back away from the direction of the church but it was futile ... and I knew it was futile. The church was a good three hundred yards away and I could see the lorry diminishing in size as it receded from me and approached the four hearses now parked outside. I leaned against the wall, out of breath and realised to my surprise that my uniform trousers were soaked with blood somewhere above the knee from its impact with the car. Suddenly Manley was by my side and he could see I was on the verge of collapse.  
Hardman appeared and he and Manley supported me just as the lorry hit the church. The noise was incredible, a huge flash of flame then the searing heat from the explosion even at the distance we were from it. The death toll would be in the hundreds after this attack. Somehow we staggered towards the church. The silence that always follows a blast like this had ended and people were screaming, crying, moaning, calling for help - a cacophony of desperate wailing surrounded us. The front of the church had gone completely, the four hearses were destroyed, bodies were everywhere. The dynamite lorry had seemingly evaporated and only the cab was left deeply embedded in the interior of the church. There was very little fire but a lot of smoke and at first I didn't believe my eyes when I saw the door of the cab being forced open. The 'Poofbot' climbed out and began walking unsteadily through the rubble of the destruction it had just caused. It's movements became more awkward and from somewhere inside it's 'head' came a sound - "Kill poofs !" It said ... the thing had a voice ! It continued to walk, continued to speak "Kill poofs, malfunction, Lick foops, Lick poofs, Kill poofs." It's left arm fell off on to the ground and it seemed to stare straight at Manley, Hardman and myself.  
"You killed my creator." It said and I felt a shiver down my spine. This was more than a machine, it was almost alive, it had intellect, memories, maybe even emotions.  
The 'Poofbot' staggered one more step forward and fell over with a resounding clang. It was motionless now. It would never move again.

Well it took a few weeks in hospital to get my leg back to normal and there wasn't an evening went by without a visit either from my daughter Mary or from a member of the 'Lav Squad'. WPC's Coren and Pollard were particularly incorrigible in making a fuss over me. By the time I was back to full fitness my secondment to the 'Lav Squad' was over and, to tell you the truth, I was glad to get back to the East End. My experience had been interesting but too blooming boring compared with real coppering !

Evening all.


End file.
